


More than Satisfied

by autoeuphoric (FreezingRayne)



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:04:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezingRayne/pseuds/autoeuphoric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He doesn’t want sweet, Koujaku. We’re sick of your fucking romance. He wants you to use him. Ruin him.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	More than Satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> Heh look at me, writing that DMMD. I love Sly, I wish we got more of him in the game.

Aoba is laughing.

Usually, Aoba’s laughs are cautious and brief. _This_ laugh is low and liquid and unrestrained, moving against Koujaku’s chest in building vibrations.

He pushes damp hair aside and kisses Aoba’s neck. “What’s so funny?”  He hadn’t even thought he was awake.

The room is a slanting mass of shadows, street chatter drifting in through the open window. Koujaku gets a brief glimpse of the ceiling as he is tossed roughly onto his back, and then Aoba is on top of him, straddling his waist. His soft cock nestles against his sternum.

“Aoba, what the—.”

A razorblade smile and eyes that gleam a dirty yellow in the settling darkness.

“Hello, Koujaku,” the other Aoba says, leisurely pinning his arms to the mattress. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I belong here.” He keeps his breaths steady, but his pulse has to be giving him away. “You don’t.”

“Oh, but Koujaku…” The other Aoba pouts, leaning down to lick a long, lingering line up the center of Koujaku’s chest. His hair is a sweaty tousle, and the shadows paint darkness across his face. “Don’t you love me?”

“I love _Aoba._ You’re not Aoba. You’re…” What had the name been? “Sly Blue.”

“ _Sly Blue_?” He tosses his head and laughs. Koujaku’s skin prickles. The sound has weight; this voice is dangerous. “That’s a screen name. Come on, I’m _Aoba._ Or, I’m the parts of him he doesn’t like. The parts that make him feel dirty.”

He’s begun rolling his hips, cock hardening against Koujaku’s chest.

“That’s why I’m here. Aoba’s not getting what he needs.”

“That is—that is totally untrue!” Aoba had come just short of sobbing not a half hour ago, the evidence of which is still streaked up Sly Blue’s chest. “He—he’s always satisfied.”  

“Oh yeah, he is.” Sly Blue’s smile stretches wider. “He can’t get enough of your cock. But he still wants more.”

“What—.” Koujaku’s wrists are starting to sting, the tips of his fingers tingling. “What are you talking about?”

Sly Blue continues his slow rut, nails digging into Koujaku’s wrists. “I’m the part of Aoba that wants to suck your cock until he chokes, that wants you to hold him down and make him take it dry.” He licks along the curve of Koujaku’s ear.

“Shut—shut up! Don’t talk about Aoba that way.”

Another high, mad giggle. “Oh, _please._ He wants to bleed, he wants you to fuck him until he can’t move.”

Koujaku’s cock jumps. “Stop.”

“Oh?” Another sharp grin. “You don’t want to hear about how the rougher it is, the more he wants it? He doesn’t want sweet, Koujaku. We’re sick of your fucking romance. He wants you to use him. _Ruin_ him.”

“No. Y-You’re lying.”

“You know I’m not.”

Koujaku tries and fails to yank himself out of that gaze.

Aoba has lived with him for months now, become the center of his life. He would have to be a much less attentive lover than he is not to notice how hot Aoba get’s for it when Koujaku pins him to the mattress, when he restrains him. How his gorgeous moans increase in volume whenever it’s a little too hard, too fast, too much.

“Right?” Sly Blue says, as if he’s listening in to his thoughts. “Aoba’s never going to tell you what he wants—you have to drag it out of him.”

“No—.”

“You’re so fucking hard right now, Koujaku,” Sly smirks. He moves to his knees, reaching back for Koujaku’s cock, taking him in far harder and faster than Aoba ever has.

“St—Stop!” Koujaku’s voice gets momentarily lost, because even if this isn’t Aoba, it’s Aoba’s _body_ tight and hot around him. He’s slick from before, but still— “You’ll hurt him!”

Sly arches his back. “Oh, _please,_ ” he says, drawing out the vowels in ‘please’ until it becomes a moan. He closes his eyes and rolls his hips, riding Koujaku with smooth, almost leonine grace. “This is nothing. One day I’ll _really_ let you tear us up.”

He braces himself on Koujaku’s thighs, fingers anchoring on his knees, letting out a short, sharp cry as he begins to work himself up and down.

Koujaku’s hands are free—he’s taken hold of Sly’s hips without even realizing it.

 _He’s_ noticed. His eyes narrow and he moves one of Koujaku’s hands to his cock, pulls the other up to lick between his fingers. “Ruin us,” he whispers, and then the hot glow fades from his eyes, and then it’s Aoba in his lap, his Aoba, blinking and shaking his head from side to side.

“Koujaku?” His voice is hazy with sleep. “What’s—ahh!” He releases a thick, shocked moan when he tries to move, eyes closing and mouth going slack, body tightening around Koujaku reflexively.

Koujaku lets go of his cock. “Aoba, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop—.” He bites down on the lie. He could have. He could have stopped as soon as Sly Blue let go of his hands.

Aoba’s eyes are fixed on him, but none of his words appear to be getting through. His breaths are shallow and his thighs tremble against Koujaku’s sides. “Oh, fuck—.”

“Are—Are you hurt? Did I—.”

Aoba closes his eyes and shakes his head, hair sticking in dark threads to his neck and shoulders. “No. It feels good. So—so good, Koujaku—!” He is so beautiful in his abandon, shocked and overcome. 

Koujaku runs his hands up and down Aoba’s thighs, affection and desire making his skin tingle with hypersensitivity. “Yeah? You like it?”

He doesn’t expect an answer—he expects a blush and indignant scowl, a reproachful narrowing of the eyes. Aoba may moan more loudly and eloquently than anyone Koujaku has ever been with, but any conversation at all during sex leaves him flustered and mumbling.

What he doesn’t expect is for Aoba to run his hands up his chest, leaning in to kiss him desperately, biting at his lips, gasping into his mouth. He doesn’t expect him to sit back up and reassume Sly Blue’s position—hands braced back on Koujaku’s knees, legs spread, whole body shaking with desperation.

Koujaku reaches up to twist his nipples, and Aoba’s mouth falls open. He arches his back, groan ripped straight from the pit of his stomach. He’s always responsive, but now he seems almost drunk. Not that Koujaku can blame him—he gets how coming back to awareness of your body during sex could be potentially alarming.

“Aoba, god—.” He takes his hips and slams him down hard, thrusting up into the slick, clutching heat of him. “You’re gorgeous, you are so fucking beautiful.”

Aoba hates it when he says stuff like that, calls him sappy and embarrassing, but today he just looks at him with hot, bright eyes. He reaches for him, fingers skating over his tattoo, slipping in sweat. Koujaku grabs his hand, kisses his fingers, his wrist, the center of his palm.

“Kou—Koujaku—I’m coming, fuck, I’m—.” His body ripples, jerking hard. Any moment, Koujaku expects his eyes to flutter closed,  but they don’t. Aoba squeezes down on his hand, moans his name, and in that moment before he comes, mouth open, forehead creased, he locks gazes with Koujaku. His eyes flash amber, and he _smiles._

He doesn’t stop moving, even though his breath is pounding out of him in harsh sobs, just rides Koujaku until he loses it too, thrusting up into Aoba and letting his mind go blank for a long, glorious moment.

He comes back down to find Aoba in his arms, warm and sleek, face pressed to his neck.

“That—.” Koujaku feels dizzy, even lying down. “Was amazing. You were amazing.” He feels the burn of a blush against his shoulder, which leaves no room for doubt that this is _his_ Aoba he’s holding.

“You’re shaking,” he adds, kissing the top of a shaggy blue head. “Was I just too much for you?”

Aoba grumbles. All Koujaku catches is ‘hippo’. They subside into silence. Up above, the shadows have nested. The evening is bright and lively outside the window.

Aoba says, “I felt him, Koujaku.”

His hand goes still on the top of Aoba’s head. “Me too. He’s a pretty friendly guy.”

“No, I mean—.” In the dark, Aoba’s pupils are huge. “I mean we combined. Merged, whatever. For a second—for a second we were the same person.”

“When do you—.” He remembers the flash, the smile. “You mean, when you came?”

Aoba hesitates, then nods.

Koujaku runs his hands up and down Aoba’s back, feeling the line of his spine. “That makes sense, I guess.” If Sly Blue is the part of Aoba’s mind that uses Scrap, all of the chaotic bits distilled down into a beautifully psychotic package, then it follows that it would surface when Aoba loses himself. “And if orgasms are what you need to get him under control—”

Aoba punches his side. “Shut up.”

Koujaku chuckles, catching his fist and kissing his hand, moving up his arm to taste the sweat at the crook of his elbow.

“Stop that,” Aoba says, but he shivers under the touch.

Koujaku sucks softly on his inner arm, looking up through the sweaty fall of his hair. “Do you remember what happened?”

Aoba runs his chin against the ridge of Koujaku’s shoulder. “Some of it? I think? I’m pretty sure he told you some…stuff about me.”  

Koujaku strains for a delicate way to phrase it. Or at least a way that won’t get him punched again. “Do you think he was making things up?”

Aoba doesn’t respond for a long while, and Koujaku supposes he isn’t planning to answer. That’s perfectly alright—he isn’t even sure he wants an answer. But then—

“I don’t think he lies.”

Aoba’s voice is warm and sleepy and far away.

“No,” Koujaku agrees, holding him tight. “Neither do I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Autoeuphoric on tumblr. Hit me up let's talk about Sly Blue.


End file.
